Hmm. I can hear the sound of a spoon scraping the side of a pot. What are you stirring here, Sam? What is Facebook saying?
I am but two cups of Twinings English Breakfast away from the horror of tangling with your Transformer. I am a husk, I tell you.
But, for what it's worth, here are a few sparks from synapses in what's left of my brain.
What larks!
Tom Sawyer.
Papa Hemingway.
Iron John.
Was it the stump of a birch someone had swung on?
The light, the light of the spinning, burning wood. Mmm. Chesterton! In the gloom black-purple, in the glint old-gold.
I was there, in my dungarees, hiding behind a bush. They didn't see me.
What's wrong with it? Light the candle-stub and look at it again...
Is it that bit about lying between the legs of a woman, the unequivocal image of the orgasmic whoopee?
Well, of course, by modern standards that is probably unacceptable. In order to avoid accusations of bias he should have made it clear - "other positions are available".
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